


How do you carry the world on your shoulders?

by LeannieBananie



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Angst, Battle, Bitterness, Canonical Character Death, Duty, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Horses, Minor Violence, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 02:45:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10401984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeannieBananie/pseuds/LeannieBananie
Summary: “Are you prepared to risk your life for the greater good?""No."It was what he wanted to say, but they had wrapped him in this fate so tightly that he never had the choice."I am."





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how this happened, I just started writing and it all came pouring out. Apparently I have feelings about this game. I kind of hack and slashed some dialogue for my needs, judge me.
> 
> *Dialogue spoilers maybe? And spoilers for Horseback Hoodlums, such as they are*
> 
> Kudos and comments, leave 'em if you liked it! It helps keeps writers motivated. Also, holler if you see any mistakes.

“Are you prepared to risk your life for the greater good?” 

_No._

“I am.” 

“Ha! Not a memory to your name, yet you are as intent as ever to charge forward with only courage and justice on your side. You have not changed a bit. Once a hero, always a hero.” 

.

.

.

“Pardon the entrance, but you’re a Hylian, aren’t you? I was hoping perhaps you’d have a moment to talk.” 

_No._

“I am Sidon, the Zora prince. Right now, Zora’s Domain is in grave danger because of the massive rainfall coming from Divine Beast Vah Ruta! Please, promise you will help us! We need your strength, warrior! Won’t you please come to Zora’s Domain with me?” 

_No._

“Sure thing.” 

“Wow! Really?! Thank you, Link! You are indeed the man I thought you were! Now Zora’s Domain will be saved for certain! No time to waste! Hurry up and head over!” 

.

.

.

Link looped Trout’s reins over the fence post and gave him a quick rub under the chin. The big spotted horse responded by bumping his silky nose against Link’s cheek and huffing sweet smelling breath into his face. He grinned, but pushed the horses head away with gentle hands, readjusting his quiver as he stepped back. 

“Behave and I might give you an apple after dinner.” Trout whickered and bobbed his head eagerly, making Link chuckle as he headed towards the inn. 

He could heard the steady hum of the shrine behind the paddock, see the red-orange glow it cast over the field, but he ignored it for now. They had been traveling for days and all he wanted was a hot meal, a bed that wasn’t made of leaves and grass, and a few flakes of hay for Trout. 

Approaching the desk he was greeted amiably by the owner, who quickly agreed to Link’s requests when he dropped a handful of rupees onto the worn wooden surface. As he hauled his rucksack over to the indicated bed he mused on how the colorful glint and cheerful clink of rupees never failed to make most things in life easier. 

_At least that hadn’t changed._

Dumping his bag on the bed he rummaged through it, pulling out some salted meat and mushrooms. Once he had gathered his ingredients he moved back outside, intent on using the cooking pot once Trout was taken care of. 

He attended to his faithful horse quickly, but thoroughly, not that his mount seemed to mind that he rushed. Trout was steadfast in his affections, trusting Link to care for him with such firm resolution that it often humbled the young man. Rain or snow, Trout never complained about their accommodations or location, but he reveled in his own horsey way when he did have a sturdy roof over his head and fresh hay in his manger. 

Watching Trout happily munch his dinner, Link stirred his own, the meat and vegetables sizzling cheerfully against hot metal. This was a quiet stable and he was grateful for it. While less people meant less traders and less supplies, it also meant less aid and service needed. Compensated or not, people saw the sword strapped across his back and his quiver rattling with arrows and assumed he could handle himself and their problems too. And he could, but it never occurred to people that he might have his own set of problems that he was struggling with. That he was barely coping with the load he already had, but unfortunately for him, he apparently had a face that inspired strangers to approach him and share their every woe. 

The acrid smell of charred food reached his nose and with a grimace he returned his focus to his know barely recognizable food. Scraping it into a wooden bowl he poked at it with a spoon, picking out the less blackened bits and nibbling cautiously on what he thought was a mushroom. 

“There’s stew to be had in the inn for five rupees. Made it myself.” 

Link eyed the grandmother warily, her face was shrewd, but kind and she stared at him with keen eyes that saw far too much. He set aside his meal and rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him as he waited for the inevitable. 

“This your first time here?” She queried, shuffling closer. He barely managed to avoid narrowing his eyes, instead he just nodded shortly, hoping she would walk away. 

She didn’t, she came closer. 

“I see. These plains are home to many quality horses. In the past, nomadic tribes would gather here, but,” She heaved a put upon sigh, like she was the one who was suffering. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white as he fought against the urge to leap up and flee. “Nowadays, bands of riders roam the plains, acting like they own the place. I can only hope that someone steps up and deals with these hooligans.” 

Link dropped his eyes to his dirty boots and his shoulders shifted in deep, silent sigh. He gripped his knees tightly with fingers as calloused and scarred as his soul. 

_No._

“Leave it to me.” If she noticed his weary voice, thick with sarcasm she didn’t comment, just turned hopeful eyes to him and cried out happily, 

“Oh really? I’m so glad to hear that. I’m counting on you!” 

_For more than you know._

He thought bitterly, the words sour on his tongue, desperate to be spoken. Rather than give voice to the host of sharp, almost hateful things coiling tightly in his belly he nodded again and rose abruptly, tipping his uneaten food into the fire before striding away. 

.

.

.

Link rose early the next morning, having slept poorly. Between the man snoring in the bed next to him and the heavy weight of expectation, sleep had been elusive. He was bleary eyed and irritable, but Trout didn’t mind, snuffling eagerly at his pockets in search of a treat and when he found none he settle for nibbling on Link’s braid. A sense of calm washed over him as he saddled his sturdy friend and readied his weapons. His quiver was full, his bow in well repair and his sword sharp. There was no reason to delay and if he was lucky he could catch these horseback hoodlums sleeping. 

Unfortunately luck was not on his side. The bokoblins were already milling through the tall grass, the otherwise peaceful scene ruined by their squealing and their distorted bodies. There was only four bokoblins and two were dispatched quickly with stealthily shot arrows from atop Trout’s back. With a twinge of regret he aimed his third arrow at the rump of the horse charging towards him and with a piercing whinny the bay reared and toppled over backwards onto his rider. Amidst the chaos and screeching Link missed the fourth rider circling him until an arrow whistled past his head. 

Reeling back he gripped his reins and dug in his heel, Trout responding eagerly, whirling sharply to give chase. He quickly stashed his bow and pulled free his long sword, the familiar weight of the weapon in his hand like a handshake. Twirling it effortlessly he urged Trout forward, the grass whipping past as the big horse raced forwards. Their headlong pursuit was abruptly halted when Link was suddenly lifted bodily out of the saddle. 

The haft of the bokoblins spear caught him in the gut and he heard the crack of ribs as all the breath rushed out of his lungs in a hoarse grunt and he slammed into the ground. His sword spun out of his hand and landed too far away to be any help, quickly disappearing into the grass. The bokoblin whose horse he had shot cackled in delight as Link staggered to his feet, clutching his ribs and scrabbling for a weapon with his free hand. His fingers closed around the limb of his Knight’s Bow and with a grimace he pulled it free in one smooth move, his ribs protesting violently as he bashed the gleeful bokoblin across the face, the sound of his bow cracking upon impact drowned out his harsh cry of pain. 

The creature howled in dismay before crumpling to the ground at Link’s feet, finally dead. He crouched into the grass and twisted as best as he could, trying to locate the final bokoblin, but the monster had the advantage. With a feral cry he charged at Link, his horse thundering towards him faster than Link could hobble away, so instead he braced himself, anticipating the exact moment when he would jump to the side and jerk the wretched creature to the ground. 

That moment never came, because out of nowhere Trout slammed into the horse, throwing them off course and as he rushed past, Link grasped his mane and in a practiced move swung himself onto his back. He gasped, one arm wrapped around his midriff as the other fumbled for the spear strapped to Trout’s saddle. He gripped tight with his legs, using his knees and heels to guide Trout back into battle. 

“Steady boy.” Trout responded to his soothing words and his stride steadied, letting Link heft the spear and prepare to throw it. He had the bokoblin in his sights and as he drew his arm back he saw the monster turn in his saddle and fire off a quick shot from his bow. 

“No!” He yelled, dropping the spear as he wrenched on the reins and tried to turn his horse. “No!” He cried again as Trout screamed in pain and stumbled, his front end crumpling and his rear flipping up, the momentum of it flinging Link from the saddle. The sound that tore from his throat as he landed and rolling across the ground was inhuman, but he ignored all of it, his aching body, the burn of his lungs, and the sharp throbbing of his ribs to scramble on his hands in knees to Trout’s still body. 

Blood bloomed across his white chest, spreading across the ground, seeping into the thick weave of Link’s pants as he cradled the horse’s head in his lap, smoothing his thick black forelock away from his eyes. They were cloudy with pain, but dull, the life quickly slipping from him. 

“Easy boy, I’ve got you.” Link whispered, rubbing a blood covered finger over the soft skin around his nose, pressing a kiss to his wide forehead. “You’re good. We’re good. I’ll make sure to give you an apple tonight okay? Y-You deserve it.” Trout sighed softly, his breath sweet like hay and fresh grass and then went limp. Link dropped his face into his mane and howled, hands clutching at the dirt as he hunched over the corpse of his best friend. 

Distantly he heard the shrieks of the last bokoblin and he lifted his haggard face to the noise. The monster was part way across the field, doing some sort of victory dance on the back of his horse, so certain of his success that he missed Link reaching for his discarded spear. He realized it too late, his chortling abruptly ending when a spear pierced his chest so forcefully that it lifted him off his mount, the sharpened tip protruding out his back as he toppled over. 

Link didn’t even watch the monster fall, already pulling his gear off Trout. He set aside the saddle and bridle and grabbed the shovel he had never gotten around to getting rid of. He had kept telling Trout that it might have a purpose one day. Grief tasted like ash in his mouth as he stared at the item in his hands and then back to the still body of his horse on the ground. 

By now the residents of Highland Stables had heard the commotion and rushed out into the field. Blynne wrung his hands and looked mournfully at the picture before him, his voice sorrowful as he asked, 

“Do you want help?” 

“No.” 

“I’ve heard tell of a Horse God who can revive fallen horses-”

“No.” 

“I’m so sorry.” Perosa was quiet, subdued. “I never should have asked you to do this.” 

“No.” 

Link ignored them, focusing on each shovelful of dirt that he tossed aside, the shade of the only tree in the field shielding him from the rising sun. 

Trout would like it here. 

Something black and painful twisted hotly inside his stomach, reaching up to clench around his heart, altering the very beat of that vital part. As he dug, he thought back to every decision he had made since waking up in that cold shrine. Every time he said yes, when he could have –should have– said no. 

According to what he had been told this wasn’t the first time he faced these challenges, but unlike all his other past lives, this time he had woken up and all he had been was a man. And then all those hopes and dreams a man might have, a wife, family, a _home_ had been brutally dashed. This role, this monumental task had been shoved on him regardless of what he might have wanted, the sense of obligation and duty so thick that there were times he choked on it. 

How could he say no? 

How could he damn an entire kingdom? All of Hyrule and all the races that depended on him? 

He couldn’t, but that didn’t stop them from damning him. 

_No._

One word might have changed everything, but it was too late for that. 

Far too late. 

.

.

.

Link dumped the saddle and bridle by the stable door, resting one hand on the supple leather briefly before shouldering his ruck and moving away from the inviting light of the inn, shoulders hunched against the pain that wracked his entire body. 

“Link! Do you need a new horse?” Padok called over the muffled, cheerful noise of dinner.” 

“No.” 


End file.
